


Love You Dumbly

by FriendlyCactus



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alastor Is Not A Good Person, Alastor is Trying, Dad Jokes, F/M, He just wants to hunt her, Hunted Radio, More tags in the future, Otome Game Protagonist level of Dumb, Parody, Reader-Insert, Stalking, reader is dumb
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:54:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22588981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriendlyCactus/pseuds/FriendlyCactus
Summary: Alastor loves his wonderful pastime of using an old radio to play twisted games with any human that happens to own it, hunting their houses and making them entertain him (and his audience). It would be a shame if the next person to buy that radio happened to be the most clueless and dumb creature in the world, right?
Relationships: Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)/Reader
Comments: 70
Kudos: 339





	1. Let's Begin?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CrabbyMaiden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrabbyMaiden/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Love You Deerly](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22072852) by [CrabbyMaiden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrabbyMaiden/pseuds/CrabbyMaiden). 



> This story is a parody of Love You Deerly by CrabbyMaiden. You can read this mess blindly if you want, but I recommend you go check out her work first, because then this story will make more sense and above all because her story is amazing. Love you and your works, Crabby!

It all started with a garage sale. 

The poor young man that lived two houses down the street from yours was found dead in his house in a pool of blood with a cross planted firmly in his butt, so now his family was selling all his stuff in hopes to forget soon this horrible tragedy.

Not that you had actually intended on buying something in these last days before your paycheck arrived, but that Saturday morning you might have had a few too many glasses of sweet lemonade and so you felt particularly spunky: $89.99 was maybe a little too much for an old radio, but the nice old lady reassured you that it had a high decor value.

“And don’t worry if sometimes it turns on by itself, dear. These old cathedral tabletop radios were known for doing that from time to time.”

*** 

Something about the timeless appearance of the design made you shiver as you passed the bills to the lady: that, and also its smell, which was something between dead rodent and wet dog in august.

“Uhm, sorry, but why does it smell fo awful?” you asked in a perplexed tone.

“What smell dear? I don’t smell anything” she answered grabbing the money and placing the surprisingly heavy radio on your arms. “Maybe it’s just some dust, it is an antique after all. Just make sure to polish it well, dear!”

Upon closer examination at your home, you realized that not only the radio was grimy and smelly, but it had a frayed and shredded cord too!

Not that you thought you'd actually use it: you doubted it would tune in to any station you'd actually want to listen to, but still you couldn’t shed the feeling that the apparently nice old lady had lied to you for some reason.

Oh well, at least you now had a (kinda) beautiful piece of old times in your home!

You began whistling a merry tune as you started scrubbing it down with lemon-scented detergent, ignoring the sudden feeling of being watched.

It was probably that guy in that long black coat that sometimes got lost in your neighborhood and ended up looking through your window because he was too shy to knock at your door to ask for indications.

***

Once the radio reached a satisfying level of cleanliness, you wrinkled your nose when you picked it up and it still smelled off. Unsure of what else to do, you grabbed a can of lily-scented room spray and doused the back of it before settling it neatly on your end table on a lace doily.

Just to make sure the scent of decay didn't come back with a vengeance, you lit a pink candle and set it on the table before turning to walk away.

You didn't notice the radio flicker to life, the faceplate glowing dimly as static faintly crackled.

But you did notice the doily slapping the back of your head and falling to the ground at your feet. 

*** 

That was the only strange occurrence that happened that day; the rest of your routine went normally: you deposited your keys in the fridge next to your wallet (no chance in forgetting them this way, since you always grabbed something to eat before heading out), you retrieved your lip balm from the pickle jar you used to store your makeup, you cleaned the red writings on your bathroom mirror spelling “you’re next” and you straightened all the chairs in your house that kept falling on their backs.

Damn, your house had a serious draft problem! 

*** 

The sound of claws clicking across your hardwood floor and scratching on your walls would have started to keep you up at night, if only you weren’t such a heavy sleeper that kept on a sleeping mask and earplugs all night.

It wasn’t until a pink candle fell on your head that you woke up with a groan.

Wait, wasn’t that the scented one you had left beside the radio?

With your mind still foggy from sleep, you removed mask and earplugs, asking yourself if those noises meant you now had a rodent problem.

Still, just to be sure you grabbed the first thing that you found on the floor beside your bed, which was a banana, and went looking for the source in your Hello Kitty pajama.

You ended up finding nothing, but to be sure you grabbed some cheese from your fridge and scattered it on the floor, just to see if it would still be there in the morning.

You were such a genius.

***

There were no signs of pests in your home, according to the professional you had called in.

But there was something, according to the words “have a gouda day!” written on your floor with the cheese pieces.

You shivered.

_Dad jokes._

You paced in your living room, chewing on your thumbnail as you tried to think of what to do now, when something yellow caught the corner of your eye.

It made you pause, squinting at the cathedral radio in confusion as you noticed that on top of it there was now a banana peel. 

Not just _any_ banana peel, _your_ banana peel! The one from your trusty weapon!

"What the heck...?" 

***

It shouldn't have been possible, considering that you had absolutely no memory of eating it.

You thought back to the cheese, staring at the banana peel.

Well, you _did_ have a little sleepwalking problem, and it wouldn’t be the first time you woke up to some weird stuff, like cactus plants bitten in half, blue dildoes bought on the internet, or a toilet brush shoved under your pillow. 

Much to your relief, that obvious explanation made you laugh at your own foolishness. 

Shaking your head, you walked to your kitchen to clear your head and the floor, pointedly ignoring the feeling of being watched again.


	2. Cheesy Start

_It didn't take long for the dreams to set in._

_They started small, with the sound of static following you everywhere you went as glowing, yellow bananas stared down at you from all directions. Which was strange, considering that bananas didn’t have eyes._

_You felt like a mouse trapped in a maze, endlessly wandering the expanse of darkness and guided only by a distant, yellow light. Maybe it was cheese._

_You never seemed to get closer. It was like it was constantly moving at the same pace as you, but you knew that you had to make it to that light or else the cheese would get away._

_Each time, you would wake before you reached the end._

_***_

_Slowly but surely, the dreams would increase in intensity and frequency._

_Walking in a sea of darkness would turn into running with your arms full of bananas, dodging claws that would reach out and try to steal your precious fruits. The claws would turn into wailing creatures that would arise from the shadows to give chase: letting out an ungodly, blood-curdling wail as you refused to give them their daily dose of potassium._

_It was during one of the chases that you actually reached the light, stumbling over your own feet and dropping the bananas everywhere as you fell before a butchered form of Swiss cheese._

_Its holes were the source of light you had been running towards those many, many times._

***

You started sleeping more, because you wanted to arrive at the end sooner and actually get to eat that damned cheese before the criminal that tore into it could do it again. 

It had gotten to the point where your coworkers would murmur quietly in concern when you would sprint around like a caffeinated cheeta because you were getting nearly ten hours of sleep every night.

They would scold you gently, telling you that rest is important but not to that extent, that there were other things in life other than sleeping, but it felt a little more complicated than just forbidding yourself to sleep so much. 

Sure, they were just dreams but... it was a matter of principle now.

You weren't sure if it was just the bananas stealers and the never delivered promise of cheese finally getting to you, but... 

For some reason, you always woke up hungry.

***

_There was one night several weeks into your reoccurring dreams where the setting was completely different._

_You were running in a field of giant carrots, panting and choking on the thick, humid air as Bambi plushies looked down at you judgingly. Someone was pursuing you, whistling a jaunty tune as you tried to bite back the urge to taste one of the carrots and kept moving forward._

_The only thing that stopped you from continuing was the fact that you nearly fell face-first into a pit of mashed potatoes._

_"Oh, deer, you really should smile! You're the star of tonight's show!"_

_A resounding bang was accented by your scream of pain at hearing another dad joke._

***

When you woke _that_ night, there was an unbearable pain in your left temple. 

It had you curling in on yourself, crying and clutching the side of your head as you thought back at those horrible words. The agony felt too _real_ and you were surprised that there wasn't an actual person whispering puns at your ear right now, but you writhed anyways.

A tapping on your window forced you to remove your mask to look up, your vision blurred with tears and you locked eyes with a Bambi plushie. 

Blood dripped down the left side of its head before it turned away and vanished.

***

The experience left you spooked and you promptly got up, staggering down the hall while holding your head as you went to your kitchen. Even in your pained haze, you easily found your sweet lemonade cabinet and shakily poured and subsequently downed glasses one after another.

Nothing made sense. Where was the cheese? Did you just imagine that plushie? Why would your brain conjure something so awful as a dad joke?

Were you _losing your mind_? 

Letting out an uneven breath, you reached for your phone to shoot a text to your cooking school friend.

Maybe you just needed a good dose of Gordon Ramsay marathon.

***

Staying at your friend's house was like taking a weight off your shoulders. 

She was surprisingly understanding at your random request and had quickly put together a cooking show night for you both to snack and catch up. You laughed, gossiped and stuffed your face the entire night without the feeling of paranoia that someone was about to come up and snatch food from your plate while spewing dad jokes at you. It made you feel _human_ again, without a care in the world as you focused on enjoying your night and forgetting the things that had been plaguing you. 

When you returned home, you spotted a flash of brown as you were pulling into your driveway and you craned your head to see what it was. A Bambi plushie was standing just outside of the woods, observing you listlessly as you parked your car before it bolted into the trees.

You made a mental note to notify your neighbors to keep a closer eye on their children’s toys. 

The smell of rot nearly made you vomit the moment you opened your door. 

You instantly dropped your bags, rushing to open your windows as you coughed and covered your nose with your shirt. The frigid air left you shivering as you whirled, scanning your living room for what could possibly be making that smell.

A quiet chuckle made your hair stand on end and the faintest voice spoke, " _Welcome home..."_

Your heart jumped to your throat and you quickly pressed your palms to your eyes. "Damn it children, not the Furby again!"

You were so over all these moving and talking toys!


	3. Spray it Under the Couch

_You were eating bananas again, your orange crocs squeaking on the ground as you skipped around trees._

_Each move you made caused more fruits to fall to the ground despite how you clutched them and you knew you were leaving a hopelessly yellow trail in your wake._

_He wasn't far behind you, humming merrily before calling out, "Don't be shy now! You want to be famous, don't you?"_

_You choked on a bite, mumbling with your mouth full, "Just let me participate to Master Chef!"_

_The only response you got was a laugh before your hunter threw a frying pan at your head._

***

You woke with a start, your stomach growling as your mind fought to wrench itself from the delusion it had just experienced. Phantom pains throbbed in the back of your head and in your tummy as if your dreams had somehow affected your reality by making you suffer even when you were awake.

Why were you always this hungry at night?

Did you have tapeworm?

Maybe you had tapeworm.

Scratching could be heard on the walls in your bathroom, driving you to ask yourself if the old pipes were finally exhaling their last breath. 

"Seems like it," you said, pushing aside the hunger to sit up as the smell of sulfur filled your room.

Yep. Definitely a leaking pipe.

***

The sound of your TV loudly broadcasting Gordon Ramsay’s angry voice kept you company as you scrubbed down the shelves in your living room with lemon-scented detergent.

Cleaning was actually your favorite chore since you did it very rarely, and every time you felt like a pirate digging for lost treasures around your house: wow, was that under the couch the immersion blender you lost six months ago? 

The master bedroom and bathroom had been scrubbed to a shine, the guest bedroom primped to its former glory and the hallway mopped to perfection. All that was left was your kitchen, living room and laundry room before you would let yourself say "Arrr, booty found!".

You hoped you would find those naughty photos that poor guy at the pub had mistakenly dropped in your purse two weeks ago and give them back to him. He must have been desperately searching for them, feeling embarrassed at the thought that a stranger could see something that was clearly meant for his special someone! 

***

You had taken to singing to help keep yourself awake, shaking your hips as you steered your vacuum cleaner along your living room carpet. The action was starting to become cathartic to you and you could imagine yourself sweeping away all of the pun-related negativity that had been gradually building over the past few weeks. 

That is, until you looked up at your window, expecting to see the light of dawn filtering through - only to find Bambi with half its skull blown off instead. 

The plushie made a bloody, gurgling noise before speaking in a ragged voice, " _The cake... Is... A lie..._ "

***

You stared at it, asking yourself if the neighbor’s children were playing again tricks on you or if your subconscious was trying to tell you to cut down on the sweets. You turned off the vacuum cleaner and picked up the lemon-scented detergent, but in the next moment Bambi was gone, leaving a bit of stuffing on the window. 

Behind you, the radio you had all but forgotten about suddenly clicked on, filling the air with an unbearably loud hum.

You squeaked loudly and turned around to stare at it, brandishing the detergent.

 _It_ was glowing brightly, the tuning dial twisting back and forth on its own as a voice laughed in the static.

***

" _BRAVO BRAVO, WHAT A PERFORMANCE,_ " the radio screeched, barely allowing a cheerful, male voice to filter through the static feedback.

You gawped at the antique. "Uh."

So the old lady was right, the thing did have a habit of turning on and off on its own!

" _WHAT A START TO OUR COMEDY SHOW: NOW IF ONLY OUR STAR WOULD_ SMILE _, THEN WE'D HAVE OURSELVES A BELLE OF THE BALL!_ "

But… how? It wasn’t plugged in. 

"... WE'LL BE RIGHT BACK, FOLKS, BUT FIRST, A MESSAGE FROM OUR SPONSORS!"

Did it run on batteries?

There was a click and then the voice lost its loud volume, " _I don't suppose I could convince you to put down that spraying thing and actually pay me attention, could I_?"

Maybe because of the dust something inside of it made contact and turned the radio on.

Out of reflex, you took a step forward and dosed the antique with a healthy dose of lemon detergent. 

***

The moment the detergent came within a foot of the radio, a sudden golden barrier materialized around it and vaporized the liquid on impact. 

Which was kinda nice because now there was a sweet lemon scent in the air, but still, you were starting to suspect radios weren’t supposed to do that. Even very old ones. 

" _Now that you've got that out of your system, why don't you settle down and we'll have ourselves a nice little chat?_ "

You inclined your head, asking yourself to what kind of station it was tuned, then you walked around the end table to see if you did plug the cord in a socket after all.

Nope, definitely not. You tried to spray the back of the radio this time, only for the detergent to bounce off the barrier and get all over your face, leaving you sputtering and with your eyes stinging. 

***

" _Really, darling. As amusing as your antics are, we have a show to run! So allow me to get introductions in order_ ," the radio crackled with a laugh. " _The name's Alastor: radio talk show host extraordinaire! And you are?_ "

"Wow," you said in amazement, quickly scrubbing your eyes and stepping back in front of the antique. “Are you an alien?”

" _... Pardon?_ "

"An alien! Is this a communication device disguised as a normal human object? 

" _Now, I never said I was an alien-_ " 

"YOU'RE CLEARLY AN ALIEN," you shouted excitedly, starting to do little jumps in your living room while clapping your hands. "Oh my God, this is amazing! I have to tell my friends I was right all along!"

***

The moment you opened the front door, a shadowy hand slammed down on the wood, forcing it shut. A slender, inhuman beast leaned down beside your face, dripping blackened sludge onto your carpet as it grinned.

Ew.

" _Ah-ah-ah! Don't run away just yet, my dear!_ "

Before you could turn around to protest, it came to your mind that the alien probably wasn’t very happy with the idea of you blabbering about his existence right and left. Also, in your excitement you kinda forgot that you were still in your pajama.

Ops. 

You blushed in embarrassment at your distraction, backtracking your steps until you plopped down on the couch with the creature following you closely.

Was it like, a hologram the alien had sent to interact with you? 

Again, the radio cheered, " _Please, I only want to play a game with you!"_


End file.
